Part of what I am attempting to do on Disability In Entertainment Arts is utilize my brain damage to my advantage, which is why I convolute so many things together. It doesn't always work, and my short lived protégé Louise Norlie indicated I might be less confusing, and less rushed, but some of my triggers are indicative of trauma no iconic personage can cure, like guilt over my online usage. I need to at the very least, mitigate this. My provider isn't an authoritarian dragoon. I may have had a little trouble mailing my bill in during the era of dial up , for which even I can scarf as a primitive folly, despite not being fully wireless- but I waited a little too patiently for ATT to convert to online billing, and I followed suit. I have been responsible, did everything they every asked of me, including the dreaded credit deposit. (Years ago, and yes, they returned it, but I am lucky I had over 30,000 dollars at my disposal to play these games.) Quelch. Now she is discussing long lost freedom of her personal finances. No one does that, nor do I, up to a point, but I am only attempting to illustrate how far my life imploded thanks to the false assurances of the disability intake model: When I was 23, still a rather fresh inner city body, I was in danger of starving to death, because the SSA field offices, overwhelmed, did not keep tabs on what their verifiable cripple was doing, and arbitrarily suspended my SSI. It points to why, unlike my dying father's sister, I am very very reluctant to depend on state welfare. I got through it then, but being very nearly in the same place, 32 years later, is obscene. I'm fully cognizant that I am less elastic, and yes, part of this falls on my shoulders: I resigned from The Matrix Research Institute like a water logged koosh ball, frightened of my clients, overwhelmed at losing my brother-- hence, "bumping into" my former manager from the center from which Matrix plucked me, this wasn't my best option, confiding in her through posts. My wounds over that permeate this entire account, revealing to me an implosive level of destruction which could, hypothetically, write itself out as a NSA political thriller spiraling into Armageddon.
Ten years ago, getting away from Presby terian Homes, this would have mitigated such terrible scars. [Riverside is the beige white tower if you want to rescue and thereby own my loyalty for life.] Now? I may have a case to sue the corporate office in Spring Mills from here to the center of the earth, but if I perceive an occasional overage as a crime against humanity. I am not really long on holding onto my sanity. My shins are going, but this doesn't mean a paraprofessional represents an optimal solution, you can trust me. I see too many abuses, even under Trudy's duress, using every weapon she can, striking out at me without realization of the consequences, because she is a moron, because Presbyterians hire minorities barely a step ahead of their brutal underclass on which they earn their salary, and there are far too many people like this, as opposed to those of keen acuity damaged by relentless cruelty. I have research to do, and may slow with Blogger for a time. I don't know if the company will allow me to code ads back in. They do not have to. I may, just barely, hold my inner savage in check, but I shall never be entirely free of the belief that people driven to violence have had too much amplified whippings.
As for Louise, I don't know how she is faring under the Trump Administration. She was a nice girl. Our contact had too much subterfuge.
Initial thought: "Interesting," in a perverse sort of way. Immediately took me into Lessing's prescience in the creation of her menacing, predatory children, and my inability to reread Memoirs during 9/11. I still have my copy, yellowed paperback, Jerry required for his course. For me Tribal Imagery, Jerry's ambitious synopsis, was nothing more than an orgasm generator, and look at me now, unable to be shocked by underdeveloped amoral curiosity.
I still have limits. Killing prairie dogs with strychnine ignites the furious woman that most men fear, even the ranchers using the poison. The worst torture left, imaginable to me, is to torture my cats to death in front of me. Couldn't bear it, but home invaders do that to aging women. I've read about it, recalled it as kimmy barreled into the reading lamp. The Apple ring tone upset her. Wrong number. Spic banger, looking for his dealer, or a bang, and I laughed at my vulnerable carnivores, scolding the female. Little Vincento trotted under my hand. I'm in charge mom. He is ten years, slowing down, going to be dead soon.
So am I, my compassion eroded so significantly that it doesn't matter. I was going to assert certain prospective intentions, but that is also irrelevant-- not so much about idiotic, or diabolical scheming-- as much as damage is damage, like an occlusion. Killing the enemy only resonates the possibility of better future outcomes; it would not mitigate the proportional suffering of my life. I am angry at Jerry, a man whose abilities once elicited reverence, shock and awe. Angry because intelligence was never enough. Murdering instructors only has so many subversive implications.
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And anytime I insinuate rather than write it straight out, little fuckers do gaping views. Jerry is fine. He might have prepared me for the stigma I would face, but that was asking a lot of the dear best bastard I ever knew. My mind was on the dish best served cold for the knives in my back, but it isn't even Google as gate keeper which concerns me anymore. Best laid plans, kids, delay the inevitable for empty people.
Some philosophers believe the key to solving certain age old metaphysical problems is to embrace contradiction, but I haven't been able to resolve that I can enter into empathy with the father, who is able to draw me in to the hard flint of his psyche, while the son keeps me on the outside, pushing me away with a visceral animosity, the 1993 Falling Down being a notable exception.
Kirk Douglas exudes certain qualities in the best of his 20th century work, qualities that offer a subtle exchange on mind/body vulnerability, that can be exemplified by his black and white films like The Juggler 1953. His game theory with Jewish identity and diasporia doesn't always reach the depth of later Hollywood and foreign film Holocaust revisionism, and I only touched on it briefly in earlier posts, but he is certainly more successful with it at times than Paul Newman, and you may consider this a working outline, to which I shall add, as carefully as the late Christopher Hitchens, that I am critical of Jewish exceptionalism that seemingly makes the modern state of Israel a necessity.
